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TRUST JESUS TODAY
WARNING: This poem is about self-injury and as such it is not suitable for a young audience and may be triggering to those who struggle with self-injury.
I was not sure whether it would be appropriate to put this poem on a Christian website, but my purpose in doing so is to express that we all, even Christians, struggle with temptation. In the following poem I have tried to express some of the lies with which Satan tempts us, in particular - if you do this, you will be real- I have then tried to show this for what it really is. I have tried to show that at the end of temptation all we are left with is guilt and regret. Satan is a deciever. It is NOT truth, but often disguises as such.
Sorry for the long introduction, but I think it was important to put a warning and try to explain my purposes in writing this poem.
The darkness seeps out appeasing Temptation,
It slowly drips down her skin,
The sight of it’s gentle flow,
Sending a simple feeling of pleasure inside her.
Who will she be today?
What kind of artwork should she make?
Shall she send a message of despair?
How about one of the cold, harsh, reality of life?
Today she will be a child.
Her paint is red,
Her inspiration is Temptation,
The one who called her,
Make an artwork,
Then you’ll be real.
Today she’ll be a child,
A finger painter.
With a touch of her finger the colour spreads,
The darkness giving way to the satisfying spread of colour.
Now much lighter, brighter,
Sends a feeling of satisfaction,
This is meaningful,
This is what it means to be real.
Creates a swirl,
How she longs for it,
Just to be free.
The paint is drying now,
The canvas is getting tighter,
Running a finger over her masterpiece,
This is truth.
The paint was expensive,
But worth it,
For from it she created meaning,
Or at least,
Temptation tells her so.
Showing off her masterpiece,
“Mummy, look what I did”,
But not this time,
This sort of artwork is best enjoyed,
No-one would understand,
No-one could see,
Expressed through pain.
The creation is complete,
The now dry darkness,
A sickly colour of submission.
No longer a masterpiece of satisfaction,
Once again she’s given in,
There’s no meaning here,
Temptation’s smiling down at her,
Only One was pleased today,
She washes the canvas clean,
Until the artwork,
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